The Kingdom of Alusia has lived in relative peace for several generation. There are still occasional threats from internal dangers such as monster and thieves, but there has not been any war for over a century. However, in times of peace, corruption has the chance to set root grow like a weed.

The small seaside town of Midian is a surprisingly busy place for a port of its size. Aside from the fishing boats, a large number of merchant ships pass through this harbor. The town is a common departure point for those leaving the country as well as a safe and reputable port for merchants to unload their cargo.

Although most of the town's inns are filled to capacity, have have all luckily managed to rent rooms above the Salty Dog tavern, a cheerful establishment that is relatively clean and of decent quality.

At night the salt breeze from the ocean can be smelled through the open windows and the distant sound of surf and gulls are a constant reminder of the nearby ocean. The tavern is crowded. A small group of travelers have rented the entire third floor of the tavern leaving little room for other guests. As the day draws to a end, a warm fire is lit in the fireplace and talk turns to adventure, travel and faraway lands. The new group of travelers remain polite but untalkative, keeping to their own business.

OOC: Please describe your character. What is he doing at the tavern? Does he work in town or just passing through? Do you know any of the others? What would they know about you?

In reply to Gamemaster (msg # 1):

Angus sits at the table, he appears as a relatively tall man of medium build with brown hair and blue eyes. He wears chain mail and has an ax on his back and a shield, a pack lays beside him. He nibbles at meat and cheese and nurses a beer. He is attentive and listening to all around him.

A small girl pushes open the street entrance door to the Salty Dog tavern with both of her little hands. She is thin and stands no more than three feet high, but she has a cute face with inquisitive green eyes. Her cheeks have a slight ruddy tone and thick, auburn-brown hair reaches just past her shoulders.

Although seemingly a child, she looks to be wearing traveler's clothes and a short sword can be seen at her left hip in a scabbard attached to a leather belt. She wears a short, brown cloak that reaches half way down the back of her legs and is held in place by a blue cord. She has a short, forest-green tunic that reaches just a third-ways down her thighs and out to her elbows. Short, brown pants that stop at the mid-point of her calves cover her legs, along with a pair of black leather boots that go the rest of the way to cover her shins and feet.

She has a cheerful expression on her face as she steps into the tavern. Held in her mouth is a piece of cheese skewered with a thin stick--likely just purchased from a food stall. She grabs the stick with her left hand an nibbles on the cheese as she walks further inside.

Her steps are small and quiet as she walks past the tall, human warrior enjoying a beer, meat, and cheese. She eyes his cheese as she slips quietly past him. A sheathed knife can be seen on the back of her belt with the hilt pointed towards her left side.

She makes her way up to the bar counter, comically climbs up a chair to stand on it, and leans over with one hand on the countertop. She says to the barkeep, "Hey, you, barkeep. A small ale, eh?" She slides a single silver piece towards the barkeep. Apparently, it had been in her right hand the whole time.

Ormalian fought to keep his head clear, though the aroma of the various alcoholic drinks was magnified by the last pinch of black lotus he had indulged in before taking a seat. He kept one hand on his spellbook in its case and leaned the other shoulder on his walking staff, trusting them to keep him anchored.

It wasn't until a pint-sized newcomer amusingly called for ale that he realized he had been holding out in conversation with someone sitting nearby for an indeterminate period of time and couldn't remember a word of what was said--or even if the conversation had been more than one-sided.

He smiled languidly. Mistress Ryzette had been right--the wayfarer's life was the one to beat!
This message was last edited by the player at 01:36, Fri 16 Apr 2021.

It was the last place the dwarf wanted to be.

He grumbled something unflattering about the general atmosphere and patronage, but the sound never made it much further than his thick, muddy-blonde beard. He stuffed another wad of whatever meat he'd been served into his mouth, revealing for a moment the missing top front tooth.

He glanced up at the elf sitting across from him, a fellow whom he'd met recently on the road. It was an oddity they'd hit it off at all, but certainly exceptional that they were quickly becoming friends. The dwarf gestured toward the door where a halfling had slinked into the room. The dwarf's hands were massive hammer-heads of flesh, scarred from countless battles, capping heavily muscled arms.

"A little young that'n t'be in here aye?" he asked with a slight lisp due to the missing tooth. He shook his head and grinned. His face was quite scarred up from fist fights and combat training. His hair and beard were full and a color that might be fair if it was washed. His eyes were a shining green and creased at the corners by his puffy cheeks and bulbous nose.  He had the look of one who'd spent a lot of time swimming in a bottle of spirits, though not anymore.

"We picked about th'busiest night o'the year t'be a-meetin'. At least the stew'n meat be tasty 'nuff..." His deep voice rumbled though there was an undertone of mirth. He brandished a lingering aroma of a slave-pit mingled with mountain travel and a hint of adventure. Resting on a short stool before him, his short legs ended in worn-out work boots with thick wooden re-soles.

Rescuing a dagger from a sheath that was stretched and smashed beneath a vast, overlapping belly, he carved out a bit of bone in the meat on his plate. His shoulders were broad, even for a dwarf, and over one of them was slung a large axe that was as battered and battle-scarred as the rest of his accouterments. His second-hand armor was tarnished, torn and hobbled together with bits of wire and rawhide. The much overworked belt was wide and strong and held a throwing axe and a couple of pouches.

"Meat's not bad," he observed to the elf, "ye do eat meat don't ye?"

A man steps into the tavern, stopping just inside the doors to let his eyes adjust to the gloomy interior. The hum of conversation near him quietens a little as people take notice.

Wearing a white tabard under his chain mail, the holy symbol of the blazing sun hanging around his neck marks him out as a priest from the Church of the Holy Sun. The same symbol is emblazoned on the shield slung over his shoulder and you see that the head of the mace he carries is crafted to look like the blazing sun...indicating he is from the militant order of the Church.

But what really marks the man out are the mottled and puckered burn scars that cover his face and head, twisting the skin and leaving him mostly hairless apart from a ragged dark beard.

His eyes now adjusted, the man scowls and looks around the gloomy tavern. "May Father Sun shine his holy light upon you all," he growls, his gruff voice making it unclear whether it is meant as a blessing or a warning.

The man strides over to the bar, fixing the tavern keeper with a glower as he waits for him to finish serving the girl standing on the stool. "A jug of water," the man rasps. "The road here has been a long one."
This message was last edited by the player at 15:40, Sat 17 Apr 2021.

Angus looks the newcomers over, "Try a cold beer Brother Sun!" Angus says to the latest one.

Brennus thirstily downs half the jug of water before turning to look at the tall man with the axe. "If you're offering..." he says, after studying the man for a moment.